Page 46 of The Shades of Pemberley
“Of course, Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Bingley, when Elizabeth was certain the woman wished to object.
“I did not intend any slight on you or to suggest that I was judging. Society can be most judgmental about unexpected occurrences such as this. I, of course, will offer my perspective of the event should I hear any gossip.”
Miss Bingley turned away from William before he could respond. “I hope you will forgive me for not attending, Mrs. Darcy. As the event was sudden, I suspected you wished to have only close family and friends present at your nuptials.”
“Not at all, Miss Bingley,” replied Elizabeth, by now enjoying the exchange. It was becoming clear that the woman was most disappointed but did not wish to lose a valuable acquaintance to a man elevated to high society.
Having stated her opinion, Miss Bingley offered her felicitations, which Elizabeth thought were almost sincere, and soon thereafter they excused themselves.
They made it as far as William’s sitting-room in good regulation, but the moment the door closed behind them, they discarded all pretense at propriety.
“Elizabeth,” breathed William, catching her up in his arms and claiming her lips for a searing kiss. “How I have waited for this moment!”
“We have been most patient, have we not?” asked Elizabeth, feeling a little breathless from the need in his actions.
For the first time in her life, Elizabeth found herself pressed up against the hard body of a man, the sensations of his continued kisses on her lips, her jaw, her cheeks, and the heat she felt pooling in her belly more exquisite than anything she had ever experienced.
At that moment, she wondered if she would survive what must come, for her ecstasy was sufficient to cause her to pass out at that very moment!
“The time for patience is past,” said William, never halting his ministrations.
“Are you certain?” asked Elizabeth with a supreme effort of will, squirming out of his grasp. “Is this proper, William? It is yet the middle of the day.”
Her attempt at a jest did not fool William for a moment, though he did not appear to appreciate it, given the growl that issued from his throat. “I’ll teach you proper, Minx!”
Then William gathered her to himself and lifted her in his embrace, carrying her to the bedchamber.
It was many hours later before she could summon any rational thought.
As important, she did not think that William was any less affected.
The passion that exploded between them boded well for their future.
It was all she had ever wished to obtain.
IF CAROLINE BINGLEY allowed herself to lose control, she knew it would be easy to rant and rave about the lost opportunity to raise her consequence in society. The honest woman in her, however, conceded that to call it an opportunity was to exceed the mark spectacularly.
Caroline suspected the Darcys knew she had come to Hertfordshire to make a last desperate attempt to inveigle her way into Mr. Darcy’s life, pushing aside Miss Bennet.
It was, Caroline reflected after the fact, feeling not a little regret, nothing more than hubris.
Though she had known when she first laid eyes on the woman the morning she had arrived—only the previous day, though it felt like many more—that her pleas would fall on deaf ears, Caroline was stubborn, and she had stuck to her plan and made a fool of herself.
There was, she supposed, some measure of herself that longed to hate Miss Bennet—now Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy—for claiming that which Caroline had been so desperate to claim for herself.
Little though she knew Mrs. Darcy, Caroline could not quite do it.
Not only was she inclined to salute the woman who had succeeded, but from what she had seen, Mrs. Darcy was a capable sort of woman.
While Caroline might deplore Mr. Darcy for preferring matters of the heart rather than the superiority of a presence in London, regardless of her birth and status, and the vast difference in the fortune each woman possessed, it did not matter to him.
No, there was nothing to be done but to confess to the superiority of Mrs. Darcy’s claim.
Mr. Darcy had risen to the first circles of late through tragedy, so she could not claim the woman had mercenary motives in accepting him, and Caroline was honest enough with herself to acknowledge that her interest in Mr. Darcy was no less than mercenary.
Caroline was not so hypocritical as to consider such matters for a moment.
Caroline had seen the insufficiency of her pretensions, and though she might wish to refute such heresy, there was no way to do so.
A part of her wished to blame it all on that ill-conceived encounter with Mr. Jameson Darcy the previous year, but she could not help but confess that understanding her true position in society had begun even earlier.
When she had gone to London three years past, her dreams had included a marriage to a man of high society, perhaps even a peer.
Then she could have turned around the teasing she had endured in the seminary from those of high standing, for once lording it over others rather than enduring it.
Caroline did not wish to confess to it, but she had known soon after she arrived that she was not acceptable to men she wished to impress.
Nobles were too affected by their positions in society, and the only men among them who would accept the daughter of a tradesman were those who were desperate for ready funds, not the sort of man she wished to marry.
Certain men of standing would overlook a woman’s less than stellar origins, but Caroline’s dowry was insufficient to tempt such a man.
Thus, she had existed on the periphery of the circles she wished to claim as her own, always looking in but never quite gaining acceptance.
A dispirited sigh escaped Caroline’s lips as she looked out the window of the suite in which she sat.
The bright and cheery sunlight streaming through the window, providing the brilliant glow of the early spring morning, did nothing to improve her mood, which might have preferred the ominous presence of low-lying clouds threatening rain.
What she would do now, Caroline could not quite understand.
After three years of chasing every man of society she thought presented any promise, she knew she had made something of a spectacle of herself.
Could she endure the sidelong glances, the whispered conversations her passing would provoke?
Caroline could not quite determine how to proceed after this latest failure.
The potential path to salvation was, therefore, unexpected, though not unwelcome.
The old Caroline would not have agreed—the woman dispirited with failure could not help but own to the greatness of another’s mind.
When the knock came on her door, Caroline thought of remaining silent, to allow whoever was on the other side to depart without acknowledgment.
By process of elimination, she determined it must be Charles, for she was not so well acquainted with Miss Darcy as to invite a visit to her chambers, and Mrs. Darcy had been cool to her since her arrival.
Caroline could do nothing other than acknowledge how understandable it was for her to feel that way.
At length, unable to support ignoring her only brother, Caroline called out permission to enter. The tall sight of her brother’s form, the reddish blond hair standing out like a beacon, told her at once that her guess was correct.
“Good morning, Caroline,” said Charles in his cheery voice. “I thought to come and escort you downstairs to breakfast.”
Though Caroline loved her brother, his exuberant tone did nothing but irritate her. It was a part of his character, so Caroline shunted her pique to the side, though she did not respond at once.
“Louisa wrote to me yesterday,” said Caroline, changing the subject. “It appears they have left Mr. Hurst’s estate early and will be in London tomorrow.”
Charles offered her a lazy smirk. “Yes, I have heard. Hurst’s letter to me arrived before we departed from London.”
The implications were clear, and Caroline glared at her brother, displeasure welling up within her. “Then why did you not delay your coming and leave me in London?”
“Because, Caroline,” said Charles, “I had already asked for Darcy’s permission for you to accompany me. Furthermore, I thought—and still think—that coming to Hertfordshire was good for you.”
Caroline considered him. “In what way?”
“To open your eyes,” said Charles. “Having seen Darcy’s felicity with his new wife, I hope you have seen something of what you might have that you never considered.”
The meaning was clear, but Caroline was not yet of a mind to acknowledge it. “I apologize if my wishes seem lacking to you, Charles, but I have always wanted to rise in society as our father charged us.”
“That is nonsense, and you know it.”
The reply was shocking; Charles was a mild-mannered man who seldom spoke in such terms. Charles abhorred conflict, which Caroline could confess she had used shamelessly over the years to get her way. This Charles, however, was confident and firm, yet still the same man she had known all her life.
“Our father, Caroline, did not lust after the highest society offers,” said Charles when Caroline could not muster a response.
“Father knew it would take some generations for the Bingleys to gain unconditional acceptance. All he wished was to join the ranks of the landed, not to connect ourselves with dukes.”
When Caroline did not respond at once, Charles pressed his point.